


The Curious Case of John Watson

by illbeyourbestkeptsecret



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illbeyourbestkeptsecret/pseuds/illbeyourbestkeptsecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a mastermind, but yet John Watson is one case he can't crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I got bored and had no internet at my nans... It's just a one-shot, but I hope you enjoy it!

Sherlock Holmes is a mastermind. The cleverest of them all, a genius, or so he had been told. He couldn't lie though, when somebody complimented his work he felt a rush of pride go through him. He loved the attention, he loved being smarter than everyone else. Sherlock took pride to a whole different level, when he was younger he often boasted about how he could always find out who the murderer was in about fifteen minutes of watching a programme, sometimes even before. There was something about the way everyone's eyes filled with amazement when he told them their life story that made Sherlock love his line of work, made him love his mind. Oh, his mind. He knew it was a beautiful thing. He'd even been told that if his mind could be taken out of his head, it would be the most dangerous and most expensive mind anybody could acquire.

That's why Sherlock was so aggravated by John. With everyone else, he had no issue of telling them when they were wrong. He had no issue of insulting them, as he'd never really bothered with caring about feelings. Feelings. What stupid, pointless things they were. He only discovered that when he moved in with John Watson. Whenever John showed even a slight discomfort or upset in his voice, Sherlock automatically asked him what was wrong. He dropped whatever he was doing, just to talk about feelings. Foolish, stupid Sherlock. Feelings. What are they even good for?

Sherlock loved to watch John in his morning routine. He was always awake after Sherlock, as Sherlock was already sat in his chair with a paper. He'd often move the paper down, just so his eyes could wander across the room. Of course, they always settled on John. Sherlock didn't know how to describe John. Of course, there were the obvious points, he had grey hair and brown eyes, and was notably shorter than Sherlock. But with everybody else, words instantly flooded Sherlock's head when he saw them. Boring. Busy. Confident. Posh. Arrogant. He wasn't judgemental, just a good judge of character. (Or maybe they were the same thing. He was never quite sure). But with John, he just couldn't describe him. He couldn't explain to you why every time he looked up at John and John glanced at him, his heart skipped a beat and he immediately looked away. When he had first met John, things had been so much simpler. He'd told him things that nobody else would have known on their first visit upon meeting someone, and he loved watching John's expression and his wonderment at his talent of deduction. 

But now? No, Sherlock could no longer describe John with just a simple word, with just a glance at his leg and tell him things he never thought anybody would know without him telling him. The only word that came close to how John looked was alluring. Yes. Alluring. Sherlock would have to use that to describe him from now on, as his mind couldn't think of any better words. When Sherlock watched John even doing the simplest of things, even like preparing tea, he noticed everything he did. From the way he walked to the way he poured the tea. 

With everyone else, Sherlock only wanted to astound and amaze them. He wanted to outsmart them. He wanted them to think that he was a genius. But with John? He felt foolish, but he could talk to John for hours. Normally, he only wanted him to be the one speaking. He loved the sound of his own voice, that he couldn't deny. He was often found talking to himself. But when he talked to John, he never wanted him to stop talking. John was one of the very few people who would alert Sherlock when he was being a complete twat, and Sherlock liked it, for some twisted reason. Sherlock had never really thought of kissing anybody, but he often found his eyes wandering to John's lips. John never said anything about it, although Sherlock was sure he noticed. John Watson was the most frustrating human Sherlock had ever met, and he couldn't even figure out why. Maybe because he actually cared for John, he cared for his interests and he cared for even the little things, like his favourite brand of tea. He hated John Watson for making him question himself. Or was he just confusing hate for love?

He had plenty of facts stored up in his mind about John Watson. The jumpers he wore, the shops he visited, the shows he watched. John Watson is a case that Sherlock Holmes can simply not crack, no matter how hard he tries. And when he finds his hand accidentally brushing against his, he feels a strange shock go through his body he is certain he has never felt before. And John just smiles, and acts like it's nothing. Even when they find their bodies close together, their faces inches apart, he just turns away. And Sherlock has never felt so pathetic. Because when he looks at John, all he can see is someone so much better than himself. Because no matter how smart he is, he'll never be a good person. It's not like he's even tried. But John Watson? He's such a good person, it almost makes Sherlock sick to his stomach. He's selfless, he cares for other people, and no matter how much Sherlock irritates him (as he can tell he does) John always tries to remain calm. 

He looks up at John as he hands him some tea, ever so carefully. Sherlock doesn't know what it is, but he just seems to want to grab his hand rather than the tea. They find themselves staring into each other's eyes for a moment, until John coughs and walks back to his regular seat. Oh, John Watson. You are just so good. Why can't I be like you? A voice in Sherlock's head speaks, one he hasn't heard since he was young. Suddenly, he feels like a child again, pining for something they can never have. Or more likely, in this instance, someone. 

Sherlock stands up, setting his tea down on the table near his chair. He doesn't know what he's doing, all he knows is his feet are in control. One step, two step, three step, four step... His feet work up a rhythm as he walks, although he doesn't feel like he is in control. Before he can stop himself, he's leaning over John, looking down at him. And now he can't remember why he walked over here. And then he sees John looking up at him, and he stares at his lips for a moment, and then he just can't take it anymore. It's driving him crazy, the voice in his head won't shut up. It's telling him to kiss him, kiss him, kiss him. It's telling him to grab him and kiss him and to not care about the consequences. So he does.

The kiss is softer and shorter than Sherlock would like it to be. Almost as soon as it begins, it is stopped by John pulling away. Sherlock almost whimpers, his mouth becoming somewhat dry but his mind begging for more. John looks up once more, and then grabs Sherlock and pulls him close. And the next kiss is oh so sweeter, because John is the one who initiates it. And Sherlock has never felt this type of adrenaline before as he pulls his legs over and sits on John's lap and greedily kisses him. The kisses are more than Sherlock could have ever expected, and he can't help but grin when John starts to run his hair through his curled brown locks. 

And then, in that moment when his lips are placed against his, Sherlock realises that there is a word that can ultimately describe the man that is John Watson.

Perfect.


End file.
